


You Know... Magic

by bloodofthepen



Series: To Burn Like Ice, To Melt Like Fire [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 11:06:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1742534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodofthepen/pseuds/bloodofthepen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Varric could honestly say that magic was something he’d never quite gotten a good grip on. Sure, magic was a great plot device. It was exciting, controversial, and added a fantastical edge to everything it touched. But to say he really understood the stuff on any level was quite the exaggeration. So, it was perhaps one of the most unrealistic things about Varric’s tales.</p><p>Shocking, I know. Out of everything miraculous and far-fetched the dwarf could concoct, magic—a very real thing, mind you—was the most ridiculous."</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Know... Magic

Varric could honestly say that magic was something he’d never quite gotten a good grip on.

Sure, magic was a great plot device. It was exciting, controversial, and added a fantastical edge to everything it touched. But to say he really _understood_ the stuff on any level was quite the exaggeration. So, it was perhaps one of the most unrealistic things about Varric’s tales.

Shocking, I know. Out of _everything_ miraculous and far-fetched the dwarf could concoct, _magic_ —a very real thing, mind you—was the most ridiculous.

Merrill never minded; she and Anders both found it rather amusing. Fenris would scoff and say magic should be taken more seriously, dangerous as it is, but it didn’t seem to ruin the rest of the story for him.

Hawke, though… for some reason, it _really_ bothered Hawke.

Which was strange, all things considered. Few things bothered Hawke.

She paid him a visit one day, and with no preamble, plopped her palms on the table, fixing him under her gaze until he set down his pen.

“What can I do for you, Hawke?”

“I’m going to teach you about magic.”

_What?_

“What?”

She rolled her eyes and pushed off the table, folding her arms. “I’m going to teach you about magic.”

Varric raised his eyebrows.

“Your mage protagonists aren’t very… mage-y. They don’t seem to know about mage things. Troubles. Concerns. Limits.”

The storyteller leaned back in his chair. “And what makes you think I’m terribly concerned with realism, O slayer of a thousand Darkspawn?”

“Well—”

“Hunter of werewolves.”

“It isn’t—”

“Dragon-killer.”

“I’ve actually—”

“Shape-shifter.”

“—done—Wait, _what?_ I haven’t heard that one.”

He chuckled. “I can make you anything at the drop of a Sovereign. The point is: why are you concerned?”

Hawke glanced away. “I want people to know what it feels like.”

Varric sat forward in his seat, resting his arms on the table’s edge. “What do you mean?” he asked gently.

Her lips turned up in a half-grin. “I know this is usually Anders’ shtick, but he likes the escapism of your tales, I think.” She shrugged. “I’d just… really like a story where the mage feels things in the way mages do. We’re sensitive to things you aren’t. Beyond that, we have more to fear.”

“Go on.”

“Everyone is always afraid when they see demons, abominations. They’re afraid of dying. We’re afraid of losing ourselves to that.”

Varric dipped his quill.

Hawke pulled out the nearest chair and plopped down in it with a sigh. “But there are _wonderful_ things about being a mage—and not just being able to toast a bandit before he can even think about a shakedown.”

“And I don’t capture the pleasantry of magery?”

She chuckled. “Don’t get me wrong, Varric; I still love your stories. Mages chock full of bravado and badassery are great.”

“But?”

“ _But_ I’d like to see a mage who knows the feel of the Veil, who walks their dreams carefully, but joyfully. A mage that fears and hates Templars, but also recognizes when their humanity shows through—who’s saddened when they encounter hatred. Who wants change, desires hope, but fears the consequences; who knows that slaughtering a hundred Templars isn’t just impossible, but maybe isn’t always the answer.” Hawke glanced over to see Varric’s pen scratching over a new piece of parchment. He dipped into the inkwell again. “That’s all.”

Varric sat back, passed the tip of the feather under his chin. “You know what, Hawke? I’ll see what I can do for you.”

She smiled, rising from the chair. “Thank you, Varric. I do really appreciate it.”

“For you, anything. A good writer always knows how to take constructive criticism.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Come back by tonight—we’ll see what I have.”

Hawke paused by the door, grinning. “And make sure you keep your mouth shut about this visit, Varric. I don’t need anyone thinking there’s something under this badass hide of mine.” She winked.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Hawke. Anything that may or may not have transpired just now won’t leave this room. Your sarcastic persona is safe with me. Can’t have everyone thinking the Champion’s gone soft.”


End file.
